Night Terrors
by BAW
Summary: A nightmare; part of the "Jacob's Ladder" universe


B

**Night Terrors**

**By**

**BAW**

This is a little snippit that came into my head one evening when I was stuck in writing another story. In the _Jacob's Ladder_ chronology, it would come at about the same time as **Or the Leopardess Her Spots**. It is unbetaed.

**Disclaimer: **This is a piece of fanfic, set in the secondary universe of _The Sentinel_; that universe is the intellectual property of Pet Fly, UPN, and other entities. No claim to copyright on nonoriginal elements is intended. Per counsel's opinion, fanfiction written for amusement and as a compositional exercise, with no desire or intent for financial gain, falls within the 'fair use' exception to copyright.

**Comments**: to [lawrence81@iwon.com][1]

B. Jacob Sandburg stumbled out of his room, rubbing his eyes and fastening his flannel robe; it had been a late night, and it was far too early for him. He remembered vaguely coming half-awake when Jim came downstairs and slammed the door of the loft apartment behind him, presumably out on his morning run. Now someone was knocking on the door. Had Jim forgotten his keys?

Shambling over to the door and opening it, he did not at first register who was out there.

"Sweetie!"

"M-m-mom?"

"Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Well, of course. But I wasn't expecting you. What brings you to Cascade?"

"I have some special news for you, Sweetie," said the tall redhead as she swept into the apartment.

"Do you want some coffee?" asked Jacob, pouring himself a cup. (Bless Jim for starting the brewer before he left!)

"No, dear. I'm off caffeine for a while."

"Why?"

"Well, Sweetie, that's my news. You're going to be a brother!"

A loud crash as Jacob's mug shattered on the floor.

"Mom! Don't joke about that!"

"But, Sweetie, I'm not joking."

"You mean, you're . . . . ."

"Yes, dear. I'm pregnant."

"Oh man, oh man, oh man!"

"Now, hurry and get dressed, dear. Bill and Steve and Jim are waiting for us at the courthouse."

"Bill? Courthouse?"

"Yes, dear. So sweet of Bill--he insists on 'making an honest woman out of me.' Quaint, isn't it? So, if you want to see your Mother get married, along with your new Stepfather and Stepbrothers. . . ."

It was a part of Jim Ellison's protective--Jacob said _overprotective_--nature that he would unconsciously check his sleeping partner. Any signs of distress could bring him out of the deepest sleep; and so it was now.

Sandburg was having a nightmare. Not too bad a one, as Sandburg nightmares went--and he had cause for some doozies!--as he wasn't screaming. His heartbeat and respiration were up, and he was muttering and moaning while thrashing against the cocoon of blankets into which he had, as usual, wound himself. Most people wouldn't have been able to understand what he was saying, but Sentinel ears could make out 'Mom' , 'brother', and 'judge.'

Moving as silently as his spirit-guide, Jim entered the small bedroom. Gently he grasped one end of the cocoon--the feet, he judged--and softly called to his Guide, who promptly sat up, wide-awake and staring.

"Hey, Chief. You OK? You were having a nightmare."

"Yeah, I was. Thanks for waking me up."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"It's silly."

"I promise I won't laugh."

"Promise?"

"Of course."

"OK. Naomi came to visit. She announced that she was pregnant, your Dad was the father, and that he and the judge were waiting down at the courthouse with you and Steve."

"Oh, so your Shamanic gifts now include being able to see the future; well, they do make a cute couple. And it would be interesting, from a genetic point of view, to see if they'd produce either a Sentinel or a Guide."

"Don't joke about that, Jim! That's all you and Steve have been able to talk about since Thanksgiving, and it's wierding me out. You know I love you like a brother, and I'm very fond of Steve, but the idea of William as a stepfather. . . . .!!"

_"Bill and Naomi,/sitting in a tree. . . ."_

"ARAUGH!"

Sandburg burrowed back under the covers like Punxatawny Phil after seeing his shadow. Jim managed not to laugh out loud, but he could not resist a small snicker.

"No more stuffed jalapeños just before bed, Chief." 

"Good _night_, Jim!" came a muffled voice.

**=end=**

   [1]: mailto:lawrence81@iwon.com



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